


Midnight In Sheffield

by BastilleWolf



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, Midnight in Paris (2011)
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Inspired By Midnight In Paris, Time Travel, sheffield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastilleWolf/pseuds/BastilleWolf
Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician on her sleepless escapade in the AM.Updates weekly.
Relationships: Alex Turner (Musician)/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55





	1. AM

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this is going to work out, but I’ve made the creative decision to write a series of Alex Turner fanfics, going down each album and all most likely lightly based off movies. Like the Grand Tranquility Hotel from the Grand Budapest Hotel, this one is based off Midnight In Paris. No need to have seen either movies to read these fics. It won’t take place around the same time, as Sheffield has been through some stuff in the early 1900s. I will keep it all a bit old-school themed, but just won’t name a specific era, so you can take your own spin on it. I’m not familiar with Sheffield at all, never been there, so I’ll keep locations vague and add the Paris theme a bit in there. Hope you tag along for the ride, and let’s have one for the road.

“I don’t see how this could be more important to you than meeting my parents,” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she had planted her face in. The sheets of the bed were soft and had a pristine white colour, much to her dismay. The entire hotel room was much too extravagant to her liking, but it was Mark who insisted on paying extra to make their stay most comfortable.

“Please don’t be difficult now, sweetheart,” her fiancée replied, as he set one of his neatly folded trousers in the dresser on the shelf next to where his ironed shirts hung. “You know how much it means to me to be able to see James and Rachel again after all these years. I’m sure your parents will understand. If not, I’ll beg for their forgiveness.” He dramatically bent down to his knee, as if to gallantly portray his apology, making her roll her eyes.

“That wouldn’t be the first thing you’d have to apologize for. First of all, you’re going to have to tell my dad why you didn’t ask for his permission to marry me-“

“You already said yes!”

She shot him a look. “And secondly, you’re going to have to explain to my mum why you didn’t want to stay at their home. I think she would’ve been very happy to play hostess to the man who’s going to marry her daughter in a few.”

He crawled on top of the bed, his curly brown hair hanging over his face as he hovered above her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be sure to make up for it. Now, please get changed. We’re having lunch.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be at that ritzy restaurant we went to last time. I’m still not over the way that waiter felt the need to explain everything to me like a five-year-old whilst pointing everything out with his little finger.”

“Well, you can’t speak French, darling. I think he tried his best at explaining the menu to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, please stop drooling on the pillow and put on something nice. For me?”

Seeing the convincing puppy look on his face, she gave in with a sigh and a very loud slurping noise as she lifted her head from the pillow, making Mark huff.

* * *

Meeting with James and Rachel wasn’t the worst thing in the world, because she didn’t see them very often and they were overall nice people. At least, if you didn’t count every time James tried to be the smartass of the group by giving some random fact about anything and everything they came across, or if you ignored the way Rachel was evidently very flirty and touchy with Mark, or if you turned your head away every time the couple made those wretched kissing noises as they shared what should be an intimate moment.

What Mark had with Rachel was something she could never come between, something she also shared with many good friends of her own. They were the type who would always share that bond with you, no matter how long you hadn’t seen each other, and she could only be happy that Mark still had friends like that.

His work as a lawyer didn’t allow for him to make all that many mates, as most try to stab him in the back just to be able to get that promotion they wanted. He’d often come home with his head hung low after days like that, when loneliness took over the pride he had of his usually exhilarating job.

And thus, as she watched Rachel hug him extra tight, she kept her mouth shut. It was for the best, and it was only one afternoon she had to endure.

But she vowed to herself to not let it happen at her wedding. That was her day. Fuck Mark and fuck Rachel. She wasn’t going to be left alone dancing with James, who seemed to be known for having two left feet, by her own husband. But that was something she’d have to worry about in the future.

Her worries now were trying to translate a French menu without asking a waiter, deciding which fork to use, and refraining from telling James to shut up about the painting that hung behind him, of which he was giving an entirely unnecessarily intricate description.

“As you can see, the painter made sure the flag of the boat is standing diagonal to the man in the front, to make the artwork a treat for the eye with this interesting form of composition. It makes the scene all the more dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mark and Rachel hummed thoughtfully, but both were looking at the painting as if it was some Professor Layton puzzle they had yet to solve.

“What do you think?” James turned to her directly, catching her off guard. James usually wasn’t one to ask others for their opinion, so she could only guess it was an attempt to test her bare knowledge on the subject to make himself look like the smarter one.

“I think you said it all, James,” she decided to answer with, “I’m afraid I haven’t thought about art in that way since my classes in school. As of now, I have more important things to worry about than what the composition in a painting is like.”

It was low of her, she knew that, but someone needed to teach him a lesson.

“Ah,” James said, seemingly unfazed by her subtle insult, “Now that you mention it, how’s your book coming along?”

She sighed. Of course, he was going to play _that_ card. She could’ve seen it coming.

Being a published writer of a few mediocre novels she’d written back in school, she was still in search for her new muse, and things were getting a bit desperate, to say the least. She had absolutely no idea what her next story was going to be about, finding everything in her life to be inexplicably boring and explicitly dull.

Not so much to say she wasn’t happy. No, she liked being with Mark. But she couldn’t say her life was a real adventure with him, or anyone for that matter. They lived in an apartment in the big city, where Mark had his day job and she her comfortable bed. He’d come home and she would’ve cooked – whatever attempt it was each time – and cleaned, and perhaps even written down a page or two only to never look at it again.

“Oh, you know. It’s getting there,” she lied, “Inspiration is lacking a bit these days, unfortunately.”

“I’ve always found inspiration to be a bit of a myth,” James said thoughtfully, “Why is it exactly that one particular thing that’s so inexplicable yet so necessary to create something? It seems a bit… I don’t know, like an excuse for some writers. I’ve heard many talk about it seriously, and many call it pure laziness. But then again, I wouldn’t really know much of the matter.”

There was the comeback.

She smiled tightly. “No, you wouldn’t. I can agree that some writers use it as an excuse to hide their laziness, as I find that a lot of characters write their own stories as soon as you sit down and start typing. However, inspiration is indeed something vague, and could be considered a writer’s virtue or downfall. It’s however you approach the subject, and however you try to deal with it or rationalize it as an artist.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I wouldn’t know much about it, since I’m only an art consultant, after all.” He threw his hands up degradingly.

Fucker.

“Oh, come on, let’s not be so childish. All of our work is equally as important, as long as we’re happy doing it,” Rachel intervened, before raising her glass, “Here’s a toast to inspiration and art!”

Though she was relieved the argument was over and the attention drawn away from her, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar itch from the downgrading undertone in Rachel’s voice. Call it jealousy if you might, but she wasn’t one to let something like that slip from her mind, however many years may pass.

“So, if I may be so bold to ask,” Rachel continued, and the writer had almost collected her guts to blatantly reply with a ‘no’ when the woman was already speaking again, “What are your plans after the wedding? Are you moving? Already thinking about having kids? No pressure, of course.” She laughed with a pitch so high it nearly shattered the wineglass she was bringing to her lips to pieces.

“Oh, she always gets a bit icky talking about having kids,” Mark chuckled, “But if it were up to her, we’d be moving to some remote village in the outskirts of France, living in a tiny apartment until we grow old and turn to dust.”

She shrugged at her fiancée, “Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

“That’s because you came up with it.”

“Don’t you want to be closer to your friends?” Rachel asked, “Why move to the middle of nowhere, when you have everything out here?”

“I don’t know. I guess because of the peace and quiet. A simple life, with the bare necessities.”

“I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t for my job,” Mark added, which was a blatant lie. She’d heard him cut off her dream many times over for many different reasons. “Unfortunately, my French isn’t good enough to be a lawyer, and certainly not in the outskirts somewhere.”

“I thought you barely spoke a word of French, anyway?” James asked her.

“I know, but I would learn it there. It would be a part of the adventure.”

He snorted, “I’m sorry darling, but adventure is for children. It’s time to grow out of that. Perhaps you should find something you like in a proper job.”

* * *

She’d prompted to walk back to the hotel, through the rain, as Mark, James and Rachel – mostly Mark – had tried to convince her to share a cab with them. But no way in hell would she spend another unnecessary moment with that couple, and Mark knew better than to follow her out, for she would only be walking too quickly for him, and he would have quietly trailed after her the whole way back.

So, when she finally reached the building, he allowed her to soak in the tub for a few hours before finally approaching her.

“He has a point, you know.”

The look she gave him was an evident warning, yet he still had the guts to continue. “I’m not saying you should stop writing. I know that’s your passion. But, I’m asking you to maybe find something that could come close to that in the meantime, at least until you find something to write about. And perhaps, after we get married-“ he kissed her wrinkly palm, “-we could afford ourselves a nice vacation cot somewhere in the outskirts of France, and we could visit it as often as we’d like.”

She pursed her lips, turning her eyes away from his pensively. “I’m not sure your job would allow that. Your vacation days would be limited, and my desires to go on a holiday always growing.”

He smiled gently. “I’m sure we could work it out after I get that promotion.”

She looked at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m giving up.”

“You’re not giving up, sweetheart. You’re only taking measures to be able to do the things you like, and when things are going well you can set your priorities straight. It’s the better thing to do.”

Her mind might be relieved to hear this solution, but her gut remained ridden with unease.

“Mark? Are you coming?” she called out, her hand hovering over the doorknob of their room.

“I’ll be right after you!” she heard him say, “Work is phoning me, you go ahead. I’ll take the next cab.”

“Alright, but don’t be too long!”

* * *

They were supposed to meet with their parents that evening to share the big news, but after hugs were shared and multiple cups of tea were had, Mark still hadn’t shown. She was beginning to grow worried when he didn’t pick up his phone, and even went as far as to step outside to frantically see if the connection was better.

After eight missed calls, she finally reached him.

“Can you believe it?” she heard him slur, “I stepped into the same cab as James! We’re at the pub, you should come join!”

Hearing faint noises of protest from others on the other end of the line, she quickly grew more and more bothered. “Mark, we were supposed to see my parents tonight.”

“Oh, we can see them again tomorrow! I figured you needed some catching up to do.”

“You could’ve joined in on that catching up, as they’ve barely seen you three times over the past four years we’ve been together.”

“Please don’t be like that sweetheart, you know I adore your parents. In fact, I’ll come over right now if that’s what you-“

“No,” she quickly cut him off, not being able to stand the mental sight of her parents having to deal with her drunk fiancée. “You know what, have fun. I’ll stay at my parents’ for the night.”

“Sounds like fun! Call me-“

She’d hung up the phone before he could finish his sentence, and had dropped to her knees as she felt her bottom lip tremble. Not wanting to alert the neighbours, she quickly forced her numb legs to work again and strode in the direction of town, a walking route she usually took whenever she was upset when she was young. She sent a quick text to her mum, telling her she’d meet again with them tomorrow and explain what happened. She really couldn’t be bothered right now.

Tears streamed down her face at the thought that her feet were so unwilling to go back to face her parents, who she’d have to disappoint yet again with a disappearing soon-to-be son-in-law. It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell her parents about her problems, it was the thought of disappointing them once again with a mistake she was making.

A horrible, horrible mistake.

She was no longer aware of which way she’d gone, as all shops around her seemed unfamiliar, yet she could’ve sworn she hadn’t messed up any turns in her route.

Wherever she was though, was a beautifully quaint, with antique streetlights and a cobbled road. Shop windows held curtains made from white lace, and showed off vintage clothes and items for a real bargain.

Must be one of those vintage sales, she figured, as her eyes grazed along cars with brands that were so old she couldn’t remember the names of them. Stores like these must attract the more interesting people with vehicles like those.

It was when she saw a polished and brand-new-looking typewriter in one of the windows, she paused. Above it, she saw her own reflection; a puffy reddened face stained with an ongoing array of tears.

“I really hope you’re not crying because you want that typewriter so awfully bad,” a voice spoke.

She whipped around, coming face to face with a man who was giving her a kind look. His eyes were hazel, matching the brown suit he wore, and his head shaved to a buzzcut. He had sharp features, and still looked awfully British.

“I- Uh… No, I’m not,” she stuttered, trying to wipe the waterworks away with her sleeve.

The man then held out a folded cotton handkerchief to her, along with a smile as an attempt to cheer her up. She gratefully accepted both.

“Not any bloke I’d need to beat up, is there?”

She laughed blubberingly, “I don’t think that would be the solution to my problems, but thank you.”

“Thank god,” he huffed, “Because to be quite honest, I can’t throw a punch for the life of me. I would’ve had to ask one of my mates to do it for me, and cheer him on as he’d won my own fight.”

“I don’t think that would count as your fight,” she chuckled.

“Defending a lady’s honour is always my fight,” he replied. He shook his head, “Apologies for the rudeness, miss. Haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Miles.”

She gave him her own name, “and it’s nice to meet you, Miles. May I ask what you’re doing about this late?”

He gave her a strange look, “Why, it’s the perfect hour, why wouldn’t I be about? The night has only just started, and one of my close mates is preforming in the pub nearby. Want to join?”

She only took a moment to hesitate, before wilfully agreeing. “Sure.”


	2. Arabella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t thank you enough for the incredible response I’ve received for the first chapter of this story, as well as The Grand Tranquility Hotel. I’ve been stressing out a bit over an audition for a writer’s school I’m partaking in (I’ve already gotten through the first one, two more auditions to go), so all of you really kept my spirits up when I wasn’t feeling all that confident in my writing.
> 
> Also, happy Mother’s Day, mum. I love you. And to all the other mothers out there! You rock.
> 
> ANOTHER IMPORTANT NOTE: As I said before, I’m not naming specific era’s or years to describe this fic. Some parts won’t add up to the time you’re thinking of, and you’d be right. But what I say to that is; all will be explained in time.

“We’re not back where we started off, are we?” Mark asked, his voice laced with such a condescending tone she didn’t believe she’d ever heard either of her parents use.

As well as the fact that he said ‘we’, like it was their problem to be solved. As if he was part of her predicament, and needed to exterminate the issue as swiftly as possible.

She’d gotten to her parents’ house in the very early hours, and had manage to sleep until the late afternoon, where she’d only woken up from the incessant noise her phone had been making. It turned out she had many missed calls from her fiancée, who was pissed off, to say the very least.

“Do you know how worried I was?” He continued, when she failed to answer his previous question. “When your mum said you went out and didn’t come back, I thought you’d been kidnapped or something! I thought, someone must’ve dragged her into an alley!”

He was met with more shameful silence.

“And yet I find you perfectly fine at home, laying in bed until-“ He glanced down at his watch. “3 pm! Are you joking?! Do I have to call someone again? Or is this just some phase you’re going through, because please warn me next time!”

She spitefully gave him a side eye. “You weren’t there to warn. You were out with James.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s your excuse? Really?! Because I had one night out to myself you go and mess your schedule up all over again? Out of retaliation?!”

“It’s not that serious, Mark. It was one night-“

“One night makes a whole lot of a difference, you and I both know that,” he shot back, making her flinch.

“I met a few people and we went out. Make a big deal out of it, why don’t you?” She was acting childish, sure, but she was still very pissed with him over bailing out on her parents. This was just one of her ways to express it, and he quickly realized that.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, sitting down on the bed next to her, and taking her hands in his. “Please don’t do this to yourself again, you’ve come so far.”

She pursed her lips. A small part of her wanted to let go again, just to cause him the trouble. But what kind of fiancée would that make her? Certainly, no better than him. And she’d make her own life miserable again.

It was years back when she’d fallen into a depression. Mark was at the peak of his career, and things should have been going well for them. Yet, after continuous horrid reviews on the last book she’d published – a haphazardly written piece after her last one – she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore. She wasn’t eating, she wasn’t taking care of herself, and most importantly; she wasn’t sleeping.

Mark had to take time off work to care for her, resulting in a missed promotion, and even when all of it seemed to be going okay again, the insomnia remained. She’d gone to countless doctors and therapists, but they usually only gave her countless pills that never worked. Others took the task upon themselves to over-analyse her, until her medical file was filled with mentions of personality disorders to borderline insanity.

Only recently had she been able to get her sleeping schedule back to a decent rate, and she wasn’t even sure how.

It was a gamble each time she went out now, a guess when she would slip back into her old ways of getting no rest and nearly fainting once in a while from sheer exhaustion. She knew that was Mark’s biggest fear right now, while he was at the brink of success.

Yet, it wasn’t a gamble to her anymore, because last night had been one of the most thrilling nights she’d had in years.

She’d walked into a decently filled pub, careful not to lose Miles in the crowd of brown and black suits of the men who were there. A groovy jazz band was playing on stage, and people were swinging about with a cloud of cigarette smoke hung above them.

“I thought people weren’t allowed to smoke in pubs anymore?” She asked as they finally reached the bar. Miles gave her a strange look, before signing to the bartender for a few pints.

“I don’t know who told you that, love, but they must’ve gone mad.”

She gave him a hesitant half-smile, glancing around the place where it appeared there wasn’t a singular person – apart from her – that wasn’t holding a cigarette. Perhaps it was just good old Sheffield, and she’d been gone for too long to remember it.

“Would you mind waiting right here?” he hesitantly asked her, “I think I spotted one of the blokes through the crowd, I’m just gonna call him over.”

She shook her head, “Trying to get rid of me already? We’ve only just met.”

Miles threw her a cheeky smile in response, as he tried to manoeuvre his figure in between the mass. “Never!”

She huffed, and as he disappeared, her eyes couldn’t help but travel across the many faces in the pub. They were a merry bunch, she had to admit, with ladies clad in shimmery dresses with loads of fringes and beads, and their hair curled into a unique fashion, and men dressed in suits and hats. Though even wearing something dark herself – a skin-tight, yet simple black dress – she felt a bit out of place between the flair and elegance of the people around her.

They suddenly started clapping, as the jazz group marked the end of their song.

“And now, a round of applause for our next talent; The Strokes!”

People whistled and cheered, and the merriment continued as the new band started to jam.

“What’s a pretty lady such as yourself doing all alone?” The voice had come from behind her, and made shivers run down her spine. Not in the pleasant way.

She turned to face the man who was evidently very much leaning closer to her. “Just waiting for my fiancée to get back, I’m afraid,” she lied. Well, not necessarily a lie.

He momentarily glanced down at her left hand, as if to check if her statement was true, but still didn’t waver in his stance. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me keeping you company for a bit.”

“Even if he didn’t mind, I definitely would,” she retaliated, making his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, before they furrowed again, and she knew then she’d made a dangerous move.

A hand touched her shoulder. Fuck, she should’ve known he wasn’t by himself.

“Love, are you alright? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Wait, what?

He had his hair styled in a fashion she recognized was heavily inspired by the fifties, and his eyes were as brown as dark chocolate. Yet his features were sharp, and the leather jacket he wore made him look anything but boyish. A cigarette hung from hip lips, which he took a deep drag of as he met her gaze.

She quickly took notice of the message.

“I-I’m fine, thank you,” she replied.

“Yeah mate, I was just keeping her company for a bit,” the other man explained, though his voice held nothing but audaciousness.

Brown eyes narrowed, while he took the smoke from his mouth. “I’m not your mate. Now piss off, or I’m gonna have to make things ugly in front of the lady.”

She was sure the man would’ve raised his fist in response, yet a look from the bartender had him second guess, and he left in a moment’s notice.

“Uh, thank you,” she could only bring about, still ridiculously flabbergasted by the entire situation. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had ever tried to be so dominant towards her, let alone now that she had a ring on her finger.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, “Though I should warn you next time not to leave your fiancée’s side. This is a good pub, but I can’t say the same for every single person in here.”

She politely introduced herself, and thanked him once again, which he shrugged off. Though he didn’t give her his name. “Where’s your bloke anyways? Been gone a bit too long, hasn’t he?”

It was then that Miles reappeared, and both men almost automatically raised their brows. One in greeting, and one in utter and befuddled confusion.

“Alex!”

“The fuck?”

“I was looking all over the place for you-“

“When were you gonna tell me you were engaged, mate?”

Now, both pairs of eyes held questions, until Miles took notice of her and quickly realized what was going on, and started laughing, which the man called Alex didn’t find amusing at all, to say the least. “I’m not engaged, you thickhead. I only just met her on the street. She’s not all that familiar around, so I thought I might show her the best pub in town.”

“Not familiar, eh?” he gazed at her questioningly, before his eyes roamed across her figure, taking in everything she was.

“Yeah, thought it best to keep her company before someone else tried to snatch her.”

Though feeling slightly uncomfortable by the piercing orbs taking in every little detail, she was grateful Miles didn’t mention he’d found her crying. She gave him a small smile, to which he winked.

“Hm,” Alex finally said, as if making a conclusion to his deductions, “I knew it couldn’t be true. She’s too much of an Arabella to be seen knocking about with the likes of you.”

“Oi!” Miles squeaked in protest, “Aren’t you supposed to be on stage or summat?”

Alex smirked, and quietly wandered off. She only noticed him again when he was standing on the raised platform with an electric guitar in his hands, and he quickly signed them towards an empty table up front.

“Can I ask you something?” she said as they took their seats and a few men joined the musician on stage.

“Anything.”

“What did he mean by ‘Arabella’?”

Miles snorted, “You should feel honoured, really. I rarely ever hear him call a girl that, and if you weren’t wearing that ring, I’m sure he would’ve made it very clear what he meant by it.”

“Oh,” she simply said, feeling her face flush.

“ _Arabella's got some interstellar-gator skin boots_

_And a Helter Skelter 'round her little finger and I ride it endlessly_

_She's got a Barbarella silver swimsuit_

_And when she needs to shelter from reality she takes a dip in my daydreams…_ ”

“…Are you even listening to me?”

She snapped out of her daze, and met Mark’s eyes again. “I’m sorry, alright? You just have to promise to trust me that it won’t happen again. I know that’s a lot to ask, but I need this right now. Please?”

He sighed deeply, and took a bit to calculate the premise in his mind.

“Alright. I promise. Now can we please go and have brunch? I’m starving.”


	3. No. 1 Party Anthem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song recommendation: ‘Bistro Fada’ by Stephane Wrembel

It couldn’t be.

Surely, she hadn’t been that drunk.

If so, she would’ve felt more than embarrassed.

She was standing in the very street she had wandered through the night before, yet nothing seemed familiar. There were no vintage sales, or shops for that matter, or Ford Roadsters that were illuminated by the antique streetlights perched on cobblestone roads.

Instead, she was faced with boring old Sheffield; cracked and bruised asphalt. A few clothing stores and a newspaper office. There was one pub, but not the one she’d been looking for.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mark said.

“I- Uh, yeah. I could’ve- I could’ve sworn it was here,” she stuttered in response.

“The pub you went to?”

She nodded silently.

“Maybe you went in a different direction. You were tired, happens to the best of us.”

She shot him a look. “I grew up here, Mark. I know my way around this place like the back of my hand, yet that street I went into… I’d never seen it before in my entire life.”

“Hm, strange,” he noted. She knew he was mostly humouring her, and couldn’t shake off the feeling he had been judging her ever since they talked over what happened. It must look crazy, she realized, but to her that was no excuse to not be understanding. He was to be her husband, after all, and weren’t those things most important in a healthy relationship?

“Call me crazy if you want, but I’m telling you; I went to a different pub last night.”

“I know, I believe you.”

She gave a slight sigh of relief.

“Now, come on, let’s go find a restaurant, because we’re not going to that pub on an empty stomach.”

They had searched all over town, with Mark generously tipping the cabby to take them everywhere they wanted. Not necessarily an odd request, but when she started to ask the driver about an old pub with the exact descriptions, - not failing to mention that smoking had been allowed - he gave her a strange look and told her he’d never heard of such a place before.

He must know, as he’d worked as a cabby for ages.

And so, she was currently sat at a random local bar Mark picked out, slumped in her seat, while her fiancée chatted on with Rachel and James. She couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed with the pair, her mind too clouded to think of anything other than that very clear night.

She touched Mark’s shoulder, and muttered in his ear that she was going back to the hotel.

He nodded, “I’ll text you when I’m coming back. Don’t stay up too late.”

She smiled lightly, and kissed him on the cheek, before slipping out of the door, and leaving the musky scene behind her.

She didn’t really pay attention to where she was going. She was staring down at her feet, which kept their leisure pace on the tiled sidewalk.

She didn’t even bother giving the man in a tracksuit she nearly bumped into a second glance, or the dog that barked at her.

She walked up the few steps, through an alley, until she rounded a corner and was back at what appeared to be the main street. Only then did she actually bump into someone.

“You just keep appearing out of nowhere, don’t you?”

“Miles?”

She rubbed her tired eyes, until the flickering had disappeared, and she could look around again.

A cobblestone street, antique metal streetlights and shop windows filled with antique wear. The man that stood in front of her wore the same suit as yesterday, but without the tie and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

She couldn’t help but throw her arms around his neck in relief.

He huffed in surprise, “Good to see you again too, love. Hope that man of yours hasn’t been treating you poorly again, has he?”

“I’m just relieved to see you again,” she replied, avoiding his question, “I can’t believe I didn’t find this street earlier this afternoon! I went looking all over the place for it! Even asked a cabby, but he didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m so glad I found you.”

A mysterious glint flashed across his eyes. “Look for me, did ya? Worry not, love. You can always find me prancing about in the AM. I’ll most likely still be in bed in the afternoons. Best stay away from me then.”

She snorted as he linked her arm with hers and followed his lead into the pub, missing the way he’d given her a worried glance as she tried to memorize the name of the residence, which was painted in a neat cursive on the sign above it.

 _Mardy Bum_.

“Taken that bird with you again, Miles?” Alex asked from his seat at the wooden table, his foot sliding a chair out for each of them from underneath the table.

“Couldn’t help myself, Al. I just keep running into her. It’s like fate.”

“Call it fate or whatever you want, mate, but there’s no hiding you’ve always fancied the married girls.”

“Sorry, could you repeat that for me?” Miles held a hand to his ear facetiously. “I couldn’t hear you over the tune of ‘The Bad Thing’.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Are you playing cards with us, or what?”

Miles looked back at her, waiting for her answer. She shrugged, “As long as it’s not strip poker.”

“Shame,” one of the other men at the table muttered, who she recognized from the previous night as Alex’s drummer.

“This is Matt, by the way,” Miles pointed at him, before turning to the other two band members. “And that’s Jamie, and Nick. You remember them from yesterday, no?”

“Of course, you put up a great show.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere in a game of cards, love,” Matt teased, as he shuffled the deck of cards like he’d do every evening.

And so, the night went on, filled with light and pleasant conversation, and a few more antsy rounds of cards. The beer gradually switched to something stronger, which she identified as a very fine whiskey. Not wanting to think about their tab yet which was bound to arrive at the end of the night, she enjoyed the smooth liquid burning her throat, and beat Jamie once again at his own game.

“I don’t like her,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be petty, Jamie. It’s not her fault you’re shit at cards,” Matt said.

“I’m not shit! I won last time!”

“Last time we let you win because it was your birthday,” Alex smoothly chimed in.

“What?!”

Matt burst out laughing at the guitarist’s aghast facial expression, and she noted even Alex himself smirked along with the merriment. She had only known him for two evenings, but from the lack of lines around his mouth, he didn’t seem like he smiled often, so it was nice to be graced with one.

What she did want to be able to unsee was the way he kept looking at her over the deck in his hands with those dark brown eyes. It made her squirm a bit in her seat.

“So, if we asked you to write an autobiography on the band, would you do it?” Nick asked. She’d told them about her career path, and how she hadn’t been able to write anything for a long while.

“I mean, if that’s what you’d want.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Matt quickly intervened.

“Well, why not?”

“She’d never believe us,” Alex drawled.

She met his eyes once more, and they looked awfully calm.

“No offence, but unless you’re going to tell me you go to Hogwarts and practice magic, I’m afraid you can’t say much that makes me find the story of a band who plays in pubs unrealistic.”

“A band who plays in pubs?! You must be joking,” the bartender suddenly intervened, setting the glass down which he had been drying with a towel for the past half hour. “They’re the most famous band in England! Even have their records played in America, they do. I’m lucky they still play in here, or it wouldn’t be so packed every Friday night.”

“We’d never abandon this place, John. This is where we became men and had our first beverages as adults,” Jamie said, raising his glass.

“Don’t play the fool with me, Jamie. You’d had too many pints before you got drunk to be a first-time drinker, and I’ve seen you sneak through the back when you were younger.”

“I didn’t know there was a certain age you’re supposed to be,” Alex quipped.

“Cause nobody told me!” Miles suddenly shouted, rising from his chair and humming a tune to himself as he cradled his drink closer to his chest.

“For the last time, Miles, if you’re going to dance, please find yourself a partner that isn’t the alcohol.”

The man in question pursed his lips thoughtfully at Alex. “Great idea, mate. I’m gunna take a piss and when I get back, I’ll have found my partner.”

He stumbled off in the direction of the restroom, and the group shared a look, for the hour was growing late and they were the only ones left in the pub.

“Sorry about Miles. He gets awfully vague when he’s drunk,” Nick told her.

She smiled. “Don’t worry about it, I’m having a laugh. I wish I could spend the whole night here. Haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

She noticed Matt trying to subtly glance down at his watch, which was close to striking 3 AM. “Probably not the best idea, love. I think it’s time to go home.”

Alex gave him a look. “Why? She could stay a bit longer, wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he slurred.

“You know why.”

“My fair lady!”

Their heads turned towards the back of the bar, where Miles had gotten down on one knee in front of a mop perched in a dirty bucket. “Please, grace me with a dance.”

The silence that followed seemed to be the cue for Miles to think the mop had accepted his offer, and for Matt to definitely call it a night.

Nick and Jamie helped Miles across the street – after managing to pry the ‘fair lady’ from his arms – while Matt chatted away with John as he was closing the bar, and she was suddenly left alone with the singer himself.

“May I walk you home?” He asked her. “No funny business, I promise.” Though he’d held his hands up in surrender, the action was contradicted by the mischievous glint in his orbs.

“Sure,” she replied, and a very small part of her wished she had just said ‘no’.

“So, since you’re famous and all,” she started, her gaze trained upon the way her feet carefully stepped on the individual stones cemented into the street’s dirt. “Have I heard any of your songs before? What were you guys called again?”

“I don’t think you would have. And we’re called the Arctic Monkeys.”

She raised her brow, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

“Stupid name, I know.”

“No,” she quickly said, “Not at all, actually. It’s somehow… Very fitting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She smiled at him, until her eyes turned up to the sky, which was filled with flickering lights in the darkest of blues. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

He hummed. “You must not be one to stay up late often, then. It’s beautiful, sure. But not the best sight I’ve ever seen.”

“What is the best sight you’ve ever seen?”

He studied her for a moment, and couldn’t tell if he was deciding on whether to answer her or not, or thinking of long-lost memories. “France. On the countryside. I’ve been all around the world, but that one night – probably caused by the empty bottles of tequila, might I add – was incomparable. Starry, with a really thin crescent moon in the sky, which Jamie described as ‘the moon’s side boob’. I thought that was quite profound. So, I wrote it down. Might even slip it into a song one day.”

The corners of her lips quirked up mischievously, the tingling sensation of the alcohol running through her system finally catching up with her. “Sing me a song, Alex.”

“A song?”

“Yesss,” she pleaded.

“Not sure your husband would agree with that.”

“He’s out and about with _Mark_ and _Rachel_. Said he’d text me if he’d get back. I think we’ve got time.”

There was a quiver in his stride. “A text, you say?”

She nodded absentmindedly. “Anyways, he’s not my husband, so being serenaded isn’t illegal just yet.”

He let out a chuckle, but it was short-lived. “Could you humour me for a bit?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Could you tell me who’s the ruler of England right now?”

“What?”

“Just- Just answer the question, please.”

“The… the queen.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t get that wrong, did I? I’m quite plastered, I’m afraid.”

“No, not at all. Perhaps we do have to save that serenade for another night, though.”

They’d halted, but the building in front of them was not one she recognized, and the route they’d taken too short to have been able to get to the hotel. “I don’t think this is-“

He kissed her on the cheek, more gently than she would’ve expected, which left her hanging with her mouth slightly open, numb from sudden surprise.

“Have a good night, love.”

He spared her one last glance, until he turned, and walked back through the dark and deserted street.

She sort of stumbled through the doors, and her eyes widened at the sight, for she was back in her hotel, and when she looked outside, she no longer met with the cobblestone street, but only the cracked asphalt of New Sheffield.


	4. I Want It All

Isn’t this nice?” Mark asked. “I can’t remember the last time we went out for lunch with just the two of us.”

She nodded, feeling a bit calmer since she’d woken up after getting a decent night’s rest, even if it was a bit shorter. She’d gotten back not a minute late last night, for Mark had arrived when she was about to cover herself under the bedsheets, asking what she was still doing up. It ended with her in tears, mostly because of the pure confusion the day had brought her, but also because she’d felt like she needed it.

It was apparent that Mark was feeling a bit concerned, and was doing his best attempt to cheer her up a bit.

“I had an idea, please hear me out for a bit,” he started.

She pulled up her nose, because whenever he said those words, they were usually followed by some notion she wouldn’t like.

“What if we got married at the church back home?”

She paused. Not what she had expected, but certainly not something she favoured. “I thought we were going to get married in France?”

“I know, but… James and Rachel just told me they wouldn’t be able to make it around the time we’d planned to have it. If we just got married at home, I’m sure that would work out better for a lot of people on the guest list.”

“Mark, we’ve discussed this, and the invitations are already printed. If James and Rachel don’t think our wedding is important enough to make time for it, then I suppose they’re not coming.”

“Sweetheart, you know how much they’d want to come. It’s just…”

“What? Spit it out, will you?”

“I’m afraid my parents might get the wrong idea with us getting married in France.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, they think it’s a bit dramatic, for starters. And they know how much you enjoy it there; their guess is that you might want to stay there forever after all is said and done.”

She gave him a look. “So, your parents are afraid I’m going to chain you to a tree in a French vineyard so they can’t ever see you again? Do they think I’m drugging you into agreeing to everything I do?”

He huffed in amusement. “No, sweetheart. But they… they just want to make sure this marriage is going to work. And the first step in their eyes would be to hold a wedding at home. Think of it as nothing more than insurance that you’ll have a pleasant day with your family-in-law.”

“And I wouldn’t have that in France?”

“You’ll most likely be met with the sour faces of both my mother and my sister. And you haven’t even encountered my aunt’s death glare yet. That one’s a real deal-breaker.”

She sighed, fumbling with her hands in her lap. Her engagement ring was starting to feel incredibly heavy, as if the diamond had multiplied its amount of carats.

* * *

She had tea with her mum later that day. Her dad was off to work.

“I… Uh, I don’t think we’ll be holding the wedding in France after all.”

Her mother lifted her chin to meet her eyes, gently setting her teacup back on its saucer. “And why is that?”

“Well, you know. I think it would be a lot easier for people to get to the venue because of work and all that. They wouldn’t have to go through all the traveling business, and it would save me and Mark quite a bit of money.”

Her mother hummed in response, but the look she gave her was critical. “I don’t think I remember ever hearing you talk about other people’s expense when you were little and showed me your wedding plans in your binder. That girl would tell everyone to sod off if they couldn’t make time for her special day, let alone think about saving money.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

“Darling, I love you. I would travel the world and back if it meant seeing you walk down the aisle. Please don’t let anyone ruin the dreams you have. I raised you better than that.”

* * *

It was nearing midnight, and Alex had lit himself a cigarette in front of the old church. It was going to be a quiet one, due to the fact that Monday was the only day of the week the pub was closed. That didn’t mean the lads wouldn’t go out, but the singer just didn’t feel like it for some reason.

A few ladies dressed in shimmery dresses with feathers in their hair walked past him and sent a wink his way, but he barely paid them any mind. His mind was elsewhere, and the empty alleyway he walked through next was illuminated only by the stars and the moon, which shone like fireballs in the dark blue abyss.

He wandered back into a main street, but it was quiet there, too.

Until he heard the muffled noises coming from a figure hunched against one of the streetlights.

It was a girl, obviously, and she was crying. But it didn’t turn out to be just any girl.

 _His Arabella_.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked. He’d crouched down next to her, attempting to move the hair soaked by her tears away from her face. He noticed she was shivering, and shrugged his jacket off, draping it over her shoulders. “I’m afraid the pawnshops are all closed by now. You’re going to have to find another way to get your money’s worth out of that engagement ring if you want to rid of it tonight.”

She sniffled a laugh, which he was pleased to receive from her. “I really don’t mean to show up crying every night. This is so embarrassing.”

Alex recalled Miles telling about the night you’d met. “Not embarrassing at all. Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head.

“Alright. Then let’s get you somewhere warmer. Also, I’m famished. Are you hungry?”

“Alphonse, how are you this evening?”

The bell had chimed as they’d walked into the small restaurant, and though the lights were dimmed, she could make out the quaint interior quite well. Round tables, probably meant for no more than two, with a small red tablecloth draped over a larger white one on each of them. They were adorned with clean sets of dinnerware, as well as a simple candle as a centrepiece.

There were grapevines hanging across the wooden beams across the ceiling, and the walls had various paintings of landscape upon them.

In the back of the room, sat the head chef, - she supposed, as he wore the biggest hat of them all – playing a game of cards with his employees.

“Not any worse than any other evening, mister Turner. How are you?” The chef called Alphonse replied heartily. She noted a hint of a French accent in his speech.

“Quite alright, as I’m surrounded by good company.”

“I see, and who might your lady friend be?”

She introduced herself politely, to which all of the cooks took their hats off.

“A friend of mister Turner’s is a friend of ours, Cherie.”

“I told you to call me Alex a long time ago,” came his protest. “Say, you wouldn’t have anything left sitting in the kitchen, would you?”

Alphonse chuckled as he stood, tucking his deck of cards in his shirt’s pocket after giving his fellow players a suspicious look. “I’ll see what we have left after your band of misfits came to raid the place.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t be complaining, if I were you. They’re your best customers, after all,” Alex called after him.

The chef grumbled something about empty pantries as he returned with a basket in hand. “And I advise you to take the lady out to dinner here at a more appropriate time instead of sneaking of into the night with a basket full of goodies.”

“Now, you know I never come here that early.”

It turns out he’d packed them an entire cheese platter, with bread, butter, and a nice bottle of wine to make the basket complete. The singer had been gallant enough to carry it and pour her a glass of wine as they walked, to a location he would not yet disclose.

“It seems like you’re known around these parts as a night owl,” she deducted.

He looked at her for a moment, and hummed as an invitation for her to continue.

“Is that just the way you go about? Or does it have a deeper meaning behind it all?”

“Doesn’t people’s behaviour always have a deeper meaning behind it?”

“I suppose so. Something you’re not willing to talk about, then?”

“Perhaps when you decide to tell me why I found you crying on the curb,” he replied curiously.

She smirked, “Well, I’m not sure what you were doing parading the streets, but you were walking, and then you found me. Coincidence, I suppose.”

He shot her a look. “You know what I mean.”

She sighed, but as she was figuring out the right words to say, it appeared that they had already reached their ‘secret location’.

It was a small square, tucked into the corner of town, with a big round fountain in the middle. Sculpted fish were spraying water onto the levels below, and the stream was a soothing noise against the silent street. The buildings surrounding it had their shutters closed, and the way they towered over the small space made it seem like they had walked into a private garden.

But the odd thing was, is that she recognized that fountain, very clearly.

“I…”

“Yes?” Alex asked.

“I… I thought they’d tore down that fountain when I was younger. The whole street, in fact.”

The man next to her seemed to tense. “Well, it seems not.”

“…It seems not.” She had kind of wanted to question him further on the matter, but as the pieces were slowly connecting in her head, she decided to wait until the conclusion she was drawing was entirely certain.

Alex set down the basket, and sat on the stone bench facing the sculpture. “So, how’s the wedding planning going?”

Just the thought of it made tears well up in her eyes again, which he quickly took notice of.

“All right, you could’ve just told me to fuck right off when I opened my mouth.”

She snorted, taking a seat next to him and reaching for a piece of bread. “I’m sorry. I just- That’s the exact thing that has gotten me riled up today.”

“How come?”

The genuine interest was refreshing to her, and it made her feel brave enough to continue. “Well, Mark just thought it would be best to change the venue’s location, since a lot of people would be coming and all that. I kind of ended up agreeing with him, taking into consideration that everyone needed to fly out to France for a singular day. But now my mum is disappointed that I’m not going through with my big wedding plans, and I’ve honestly been doubting every decision I’ve been making since the get-go.”

He nodded with his lips pursed in thought. “I think cheese solves a lot of problems.” He handed her a piece of Gouda. “But if I may ask, what do you want?”

She gave him a confused look.

“I’ve only heard you mention what your fiancée wants, and what your mother wants, and that you don’t want to disappoint either of them. But I haven’t heard you talk about your dream wedding yet. It’s like you care about everyone’s opinions except for your own. And it seems like Mark doesn’t care much for it, either.”

She opened her mouth in protest, “Of course Mark cares! He’s only thinking about practicality, and our future.”

Alex took a languid sip of his glass before replying. “Love, if you want to marry someone, practicality shouldn’t matter if it means you get to hold the wedding your sweetheart has always dreamed about.”

“I don’t need your judgement on my love life.”

“No, but you asked for it anyway. I can’t tell you what to do; it’s your life. All I’m going to say is, make it count. You’re not getting a second shot at it. If you want to go through the rigmarole of a big wedding with a guest list that never ends and a dress that blinds people with the amount of diamonds on it, then you should do it. Not because I told you so, but because you want to do it.”

She knew he was right, but was afraid to admit it. “I… I don’t want a big wedding.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want it to be private. Just family and friends. In a vineyard somewhere in France.”

He threw his hands up. “Then there you have it.”

“It’s not that easy, Alex. This isn’t all about me. Relationships call for compromise, not selfishness.”

He suddenly took her hand, and pulled her along the square until they’d reached the fountain. He took a coin out of his pocket, and held it out to her.

“What?”

He thrust his palm into her direction once more, but seemed quite reluctant to do so. “Take it, make a wish, and throw it into the fountain.”

“Alex-“

“Might as well give it a go. What do you have to lose?”

She sighed. Though reluctantly, she did as told, and closed her eyes. The slight ‘plop’ of the penny falling into the water was barely heard over the stream.

“You can thank me later,” Alex said.

But as he turned his back to her, she was feeling impulsive, and grabbed his shoulders and thrust him backwards.

This time, the splash was heard.

She clasped her hands in front of her mouth to keep herself from laughing at the drenched figure of Alex Turner, sitting awkwardly in a fountain. Oh, and how he looked absolutely pissed. Pissed was an understatement. He looked furious.

“You’re going to regret that.”

“Oh, am I-“

She shrieked, as two cold hands pulled her into the water with him.


	5. Do I Wanna Know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song recommendation: Seul Ce Soir by Swing 41

“You’re writing again?” Mark asked, as he glanced over her shoulder to see the sheet of paper that was hanging off the typewriter. “Where’d you get that? It’s in marvellous condition.”

“Oh, just a vintage shop I passed on the way home last night,” she muttered, her eyes not once leaving her work.

Her fiancée looked at her curiously; it had been ages since he’d last seen her this focussed on a piece she was writing. He couldn’t recall much having changed over the past few days, other than the minor argument they’d had about the wedding venue. Perhaps that was it, he thought to himself. His brows furrowed.

“You’re- What are you writing about?” He wondered, a tad nervously.

She finally turned to him, and he gritted his teeth. Her hair was messy, her nose was red, she had bags under her eyes and her gaze held only annoyance. She knew what he was thinking, and it bothered her more than anything. “I’m not writing about you.”

It relieved him only slightly, for her appearance was enough cause to still be concerned. “Don’t tell me you were up all night writing.”

“Mark, I was not. I only just started.”

He suddenly moved about the room, opening drawers and flipping sheets frantically.

“What are you doing?!” She asked, starting to feel upset. “Mark, I did not hide any pages from you! Stop acting like a fool.”

He halted. “I’m acting like a fool?!” he asked, turning back to look at her. “Look at yourself! You’re tired, sweetheart! I can tell when you’ve been up all night, and I can most certainly tell when you’re lying. Just answer me this; did you stay up all night?”

She rolled her eyes, letting out a huff. “I… Not all night-“

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Is this what our relationship has come to?! One where we don’t tell each other anything anymore, one where we lie to each other? Because that’s not what I want to have with the woman I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with.”

“No!” she quickly replied, starting to feel panicked, “I promise, I just met up with some friends, and we had some drinks! That’s all, Mark. They were friends from school, I promise.” Tears were starting to gather in her eyes. “I promise that’s all it was. Please, don’t leave.”

He took a long good look at her as she started to shiver, before pulling her into his arms. She held onto him tightly, as he breathed in the scent of her hair. “You know I’d take care of you, right?” he muttered, “If anything were to happen, I’d take care of you. A lot of people wouldn’t, but I’d be here. Is that not enough? Am I not enough?”

She sobbed quietly. “You are, Mark. I-I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay. I know,” he hushed her. “And I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I shouldn’t have yelled. How about we go out to a nice restaurant tonight? I’ll let you pick the place.”

She only nodded in response.

“Great. Let’s forget about this little incident, all right? I know you’ll behave now.”

* * *

It was around 9, a lot later than they’d usually have dinner, but Mark had to take a business call that was longer than expected. He had stepped out of the hotel for it, and when he’d gotten back, he found her wearing her favourite red dress, and she found him holding out her favourite flowers for her. Perhaps not the best way to deal with things, but it was their own way of apologizing. Pretty dresses forgave, and bouquets forgot.

“You want to eat here?” Mark questioned, inspecting the sign above the quirky diner that she had been able to find.

For when they’d gotten out of the cab, and her heels met with the cobblestone road, she’d almost burst from excitement.

She hummed, “I found it yesterday. One of my… One of my friends showed it to me.”

“All right, then. Ladies first.”

“Ah, Cherie! How good it is to see you again!” The chef kissed her hands enthusiastically, making her blush. “Not joined by mister Turner tonight?”

She shook her head, answering quickly as to avoid Mark questioning why the cook gave him such an odd look. “Ah, no. This is my fiancée; Mark. Mark, this is Alphonse. We met just yesterday.”

“It doesn’t matter when we met,” Alphonse protested, “Mister Turner only goes about with the good folks. You’re part of the family, now. Let me see to it that you get a proper table.”

And off he went.

“Mister Turner?” Mark asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Y-Yeah. The friend I told you about.”

“I’ve never heard you mention him before. You say you met him in school?”

“Eh, no I met him through my friends from school.”

They were interrupted by one of the waiters. “Excuse me, sir, miss, if you’ll follow me, please. Your table is ready.”

Alphonse himself was kind enough to explain parts of the menu to her, and this time, she didn’t mind. He didn’t point with his little finger, he didn’t look down on her as he talked, he didn’t speak with a tone of underlying annoyance. He was kind, and took a seat next to her as he named all of his favourite items; which just so happened to be the entire menu.

She eventually just settled on the ratatouille, and the chef nearly squealed with excitement. “An excellent choice, Cherie. Coming right up.” He snapped his fingers for the other waiter to follow him into the kitchens.

Her fiancée reached over the table to take her hand in his, and fondly ran his fingers over their engagement ring. “I can’t stop thinking about the day I gave you this.”

She smiled softly, and rested her chin on her palm. “It was in a place just like this. I miss it. We should go out for dinner more often.”

“I agree. Won’t be long until we can’t anymore.”

She furrowed her brows. Taking a sip of her glass, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“You know, when we have kids and all that after we’re married.”

Nearly choking on her wine, she had to politely tell Alphonse everything was fine before he ran off to get a doctor. She turned back to Mark with wide eyes. “I’m not… I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet, Mark.”

“You don’t want kids?”

“I’m not saying that I don’t, but I thought we could just wait a few years and see. What about our careers? I have so much I’d still like to accomplish.”

He blinked at her, and shrugged, as if there was nothing to it. “I can support the both of us, especially after I get my promotion. And I’m sure we can do all of that stuff you like when we have kids. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Support the both of us?” She leaned towards him, not wanting to attract any more unwanted attention towards their quarrel. Alphonse was already giving her worried looks. “What about my career, Mark? I’m not just going to give that all up.”

“You’re a writer, you can work from home.”

“Not when I have a crying baby I need to watch twenty-four seven. I’d have so much on my mind that I wouldn’t be able to get a word down on paper.”

“Babies are not cry machines you can’t turn off. They sleep most of the time,” he tried to assure her.

“Not all of them,” she muttered under her breath, trying to look anywhere other than in his eyes. When they didn’t stop their incessant drilling to the side of her head, she was forced to turn back to face them. And they looked tired.

“Are you sure this is about your career?” he wondered, “Is this not about something else? Because every time I try to talk to you about something you can’t help but complain. The wedding venue, having kids, even when we’re with Mark and Rachel. It’s like… You just don’t care about what I want. If you don’t want to get married, I’d understand. But I’m asking you to tell me now, because I don’t think I can handle being stood up at the altar. I don’t think my parents could handle that, and neither can yours.”

She was at a loss for words. “Mark…”

The waiter silently set their plates of food in front of them, and bade them a nice dinner, which they offhandedly thanked him for.

“I need you to think this through, sweetheart,” he continued, “We’ve been through so much together. I just can’t bear to watch you hit rock bottom again if I’m gone.”

She stayed silent at that.

A chair was roughly scraped across the floor, and placed at their table. All waiters suddenly jumped into action, bustling around to grab another set of cutlery and a plate, as someone joined them at what was supposed to be dinner for two. People were whispering about, glancing at one another as if to ask if what they were seeing was really true.

“I’ll take the usual, Alphonse,” Alex called out, helping himself to her glass of wine, “And some of this fine wine to wash it down with. The lady had impeccable taste.”

She sat there with her mouth hanging open slightly, and he seemed mighty pleased with himself.

“Sorry, who are you?” Mark sputtered, clearly offended.

“Alex.”

“Alex?” Mark turned to her in search of answers.

She sighed, “Mister Turner.”

“Mister Turner?” Alex asked.

“Alex,” she corrected herself, glaring at the man.

“No, please do call me mister Turner. I don’t mind. At all.”

“I’m afraid I have to tell you this, Alex,” Mark grumbled, “but I was planning on having a nice quiet dinner with my fiancée here. Without any interruptions.”

“Well, plans change don’t they? Like weddings.”

She kicked his leg from underneath the table, which he shot up at, and dared to look offended.

“We were talking, Alex. It’s rude to interrupt.”

He didn’t pay her any more mind, as he focused his attention on her fiancée. “You know, I’ve always loved weddings in France. Very classy. Am I going to be invited?”

“You are most certainly not!” She huffed.

Oh, now he looked actually offended.

“You know what?” Mark said, as he stood and wiped his mouth with his napkin, “I think I’m just going back to the hotel. Clearly you’re not ready to have a serious conversation right now.”

“Mark, please don’t-“

“I thank you very much, Mark,” the singer interrupted, being bold enough to shake his hand, “At the very least you understand that evenings are supposed to be spent drinking lots of wine, not having serious conversations.”

The man in question had stormed out, after roughly pulling his hand out of Alex’ grasp. She ran out after him.

“Mark, I’m really trying here!” she called out.

Thankfully, that made him stop.

“I’m trying,” she continued, “And I’m sorry I worry a lot, and I know I’m as stubborn as a mule sometimes. But I want to make this work. I really do. I’ve spent too many years with you to not realize I can spend that many more together. I’m trying, and I can only hope that’s enough for you.”

When he looked back at her, she really thought it was going to go back to that evening a few weeks ago. But nothing happened.

“Perhaps it’s best if you spend the night with your parents,” was all he said. Her eyes followed him until he rounded a corner at the end of the street, and disappeared.

“I could always throw you back into that fountain, if you’d like,” Alex commented, who was leaning against the restaurant’s doorway.

“God, I hate you.”


	6. Mad Sounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song recommendations: Dance Little Liar by Arctic Monkeys, or A Tragic Fate from the Professor Layton soundtrack

When she was younger, her parents were thinking about divorcing. And that’s really something to deal with at such a young age. So, she found solace in the only things her mum had lying around; books.

Books had been the only reliable thing in her entire life. The words were solid on paper, the storyline was set, and it had an end and a beginning. Nothing she had to go through; she only had to be a spectator from above, able to criticise people for the mistakes they made and commend heroes for their virtuous adventures.

It’s why she would describe her life to be something of a book. However, it was a story that seemed to have no ending. An intricate plotline that just kept on going, daring her to just mark the page and close the cover on it whenever she was getting sick of it. To just leave those heavy chapters weighing her down behind her, never to look back.

She felt like she was only at the middle of the story, where things should be going easier, because she could just leave her book open without the pages turning on their own because of the stiffness of the brand-new cover.

She had it all, really; though sometimes still in doubt, her parents were together, she had a man she could rely on who she would marry, and a nice apartment to get back to.

She barely felt the raindrops touching her face, as her entire body appeared to be numb.

She stood there, in front of the restaurant, for what seemed like ages, until the bells of the church struck eleven, and she was still unsure of why she was unable to move any of her limbs.

Warm hands touched her arms, comfortable, yet firm. They must have noticed how cold she was getting, because they draped a dark jacket over her shoulders. “You’re shivering,” she vaguely heard, “Let’s get you somewhere warm, shall we?”

She nodded, the events of the evening finally playing back all over again. Her stomach felt heavy, and her heart was beating at a faster rate than it usually was. “Do you think he’ll come back?” she muttered.

Brown eyes swept over her, and a chill went down her spine. She couldn’t tell what they were thinking; she only saw a calculated determination to make sure she was okay. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly, “But I know he wouldn’t want you to have caught something by the time he gets back.”

She barely gave a nod of her head, which was enough indication for Alex to tuck her under his arm, and walk her through the empty streets of a rainy Sheffield. At the very least, the downpour would hide the fact that hot tears were silently slipping down her face.

She must’ve looked like a real mess; standing shivering in a soaked wet dress in front of a brick building, tucked tightly between other brick buildings, as Alex fumbled with his keys. Once finally catching his bearings, he was able to twist the lock open, and push back the door that were adorned with gleaming golden numbers reading ‘505’.

It was a shared complex, with an apartment downstairs and one up, which was Alex’ place.

She shouldn’t have been surprised, really, but the home was quite cosy, most likely because of it’s size, and if she had to describe its contents in a few words, they would be ‘retro simplicity’.

Brown leather couches which looked very well worn made up most of the living room, along with a radio that sat upon a wooden cabinet stashed with liquor of all sorts. One of the walls was almost entirely covered by built-in shelves, holding many books and records alike, but leaving just enough room to be able to open the door on that very same wall.

The radio was still softly playing old tunes, with hints of soul and jazz. The rain tapping against the windows had almost drowned the sound out completely, if she hadn’t been standing so close to it. Alex turned up the volume a tad.

“I recognize that song,” she said, “my mum used to play it a lot when my grandmother passed away. It was her favourite song.”

“She had good taste,” he replied with a friendly crook of his mouth. He staggered off to the kitchen, and she heard him put the kettle on as she hesitantly took a seat on one of the large sofa’s. If it hadn’t been leather, she wouldn’t have even dared to step close to them.

“I know it’s not much. But it’s home.” He handed her a steaming cup, and almost simultaneously drew a blanket over her lap. He suddenly paused, and glanced up at her, “I’m sorry, I just assumed you took milk and sugar.”

She shook her head, “That’s the way I like it.”

He hummed, and sat down in front of her on the coffee table.

“I should apologize,” he said.

She gave him a questioning look, inviting him to explain.

“I crossed the line with the way I was acting back at the restaurant. I was being a total arse, and quite possibly just ruined any chance of maybe remaining in touch with you altogether. I’d understand you wouldn’t want me to come to your wedding. Hell, you barely even know me.”

Her gaze didn’t waver from his, as she took a moment to think. “For some reason, I feel like I’ve known you all my life. I can’t say I’ve ever met someone who I was able to talk so freely with from the get-go, and I can only say that it sort of frightens me.”

“Why?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“I suppose you can understand that it might seem quite odd to my fiancée that I’m parading about town with another man in the middle of the night, one I met only a few evenings before at that.”

He gave her a look. “That’s not what I was asking.”

“Why were you being an ass towards Mark?” she continued, decidedly avoiding the question.

He hesitated, his hands gripping the edges of the table a bit tighter, as if they kept him from falling over or summat. “Annoyance. Jealousy, perhaps.”

“Jealousy?”

He huffed, “Don’t tell me you didn’t quite figure that out yet. You’re a writer. I see someone being lousy towards a pretty girl, or anyone just around a pretty girl, for that matter, when I know they could be doing so much better. It bothers me.”

“So I’m just a pretty girl?”

“What would you want me to think of you as, then?”

He got her there. But she wasn’t yet willing to let it all go. “And what would be so much better for me? You? You barely even know me, perhaps I’m a horrible person. Perhaps Mark is the one that could do so much better.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I didn’t see you walking away from an argument.”

She stiffened slightly in her seat, thinking back on all other times they had had a fight. “Mark is just… he needs to cool down. It’s just his way of handling things, and I can only respect that.”

“And what happens when he doesn’t cool down?” he daringly asked.

This time, the look she gave him was a clear warning. He had indeed crossed boundaries tonight, more so than what should even be considered okay if they had been close friends. But they weren’t, and she was starting to take notice of the fact that she was quite easily giving her trust to this man.

“I can honestly say, and smack me across the face if you must, but after that brief meeting we had, I knew you shouldn’t marry him. You don’t fit together, and that’s not because of your lack of trying or incapacity to agree on certain things, but it’s because I can tell that there’s something going on between you that you don’t want to talk about.”

She didn’t slap him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was as if he had smacked her across the face with a harsh reality she had been trying to hide. And only then did something she had been wondering since the moment she met him cross her mind once more.

“You’re…” Yes, that must be it. “No, never mind.”

He shook his head, “Humour me.”

“Don’t start laughing at me.”

“I never would.”

She got off the couch, and strode across the room with a sudden surge of energy she hadn’t been sure could still muster up before. She looked out across the window, over the smoking chimneys of old Sheffield, and it was as if everything just clicked in her mind.

“You’re… You’re not real, are you?”

He didn’t respond, but she didn’t need him to.

“You’re just a figment of my imagination,” she muttered, her thoughts finally able to form into verbal words. She looked down at her hands, as if they were the only thing that kept her from spiralling. “A hallucination of a chronic insomniac. You’re nothing but a dream, a test. I’m just dealing with a lot of emotions and stress, and this is all a coping mechanism…”

“A test?” he asked distantly.

“A test to see if I’m really ready to get married.”

When she heard him hum, he was a lot closer than she expected, and had already felt the heat radiating off his chest on her back before he’d even made a noise. Turning around, she was met with a dark pair of eyes, a gaze so intense she felt like her feet were suddenly cemented to the floor.

His shirt was sticking to his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination, and the fringe at the top of his head was as messy as her ragged breaths.

“If I’m just a dream, how can I do this?”

She didn’t stop him when he tilted his head, nor when his warm lips met hers with a gentle fire. Passionately, and slowly, they moved against hers, until the tingling sensation it sent through her made it impossible for her to refrain. And so, she kissed him back.

Nothing like what she’d ever felt with anyone else, something almost too good to be true. Like first kiss, hesitant and new, but with an unrealistic perfection. It shouldn’t feel this way. Her hand running across his wet chest shouldn’t make her want to pull him only closer. Her hips shouldn’t feel such satisfaction as he squeezed them and pulled them against his.

Her eyes opened, not even having realized she had had them closed right as skin met skin, and when she wasn’t met with a curly bush of brown, but only a slicked back messy fringe of pure perfection, she panicked.

“I… I have to go.” It was barely muttered against his lips, but he’d heard it.

He was unable to say any more, as she had somehow already rushed through the room and down the steps. And as the front door slammed shut with a finality, she had left him. And he continued to spend his night like any other night; all alone.

* * *

Last night had felt like a dream, something that didn’t sedate the terrifying realization she’d had when the dots finally connected. She lay awake all night, her eyes barely blinking as they continued to glare at the red digital numbers on her alarm clock, until she turned it off precisely a minute before it would start blaring.

She had thought about just staying in bed for the rest of the day. She had also thought about calling Mark. But Mark would call her, those were the rules. If he called her, he had cooled off and everything would be fine again. It would all go back to normal, and she would never go to town in the dark again. Not ever did she have to see his face again.

But her plans went out the window to just keep waiting underneath her comfortable sheets, which had made sure her dress was dry by now, when she heard her mum open the front door and invite people in.

A few minutes after she was called to join them for breakfast, and that she shouldn’t have to worry about wearing her pyjamas like she always did.

So, she did the sane thing and got changed into her pyjamas, cleaned her face of all blotches of makeup and headed downstairs.

At the dining table sat a couple who appeared to be around her mother’s age, with greying features, but kind eyes. They seemed vaguely familiar, so she was unsure of whether she had to introduce herself or not. If she somehow did know them, she would look like a fool.

But thankfully, her mother took notice.

“Grab a plate dear, and join us.” She did as was told, as her mother continued to talk about how she met the couple in one of her group couple therapy sessions, ones she and her father still attended regularly.

She’d only gotten to point of introducing them to her when she had already sat down, something she was thankful for, because if she hadn’t been, she would’ve most definitely fallen over.

“These are mister and missus Turner.”

Her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach, as her eyes met the brown orbs of what was most assuredly Alex Turner’s mother.

“-They were just telling me about their son.”

And oh, how she wished she could’ve just closed the book by now.


	7. I Wanna Be Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the patience! For those of you who don't know yet; I got accepted into a writing school! And it's all thanks to you lovelies for always supporting me <3 Thank you!!!

Her feet dragged across the pavement, and this time they showed no hesitance because they knew exactly where they were going.

She didn’t find the building she was looking for the first corner she rounded, so she took a detour, until the lights seemed to change and the asphalt disappeared and she nearly tripped over the uneven brick road. A group of men turned their heads when they’d heard her swear loud enough she was sure she’d woken up the deaf grandma that lived in the attic at the end of the street.

As soon as she met his eyes in the pub, she wasted no time do drag him away from a very confused Matt, out to the hallway where the bathrooms were. They were occupied by couples doing, well, what you can imagine they were doing, as well as ladies trying to not-so-subtly sniff a questionable substance from its counters, but she couldn’t be bothered right now. Alex didn’t seem surprised to see her, and it irritated her how calm he was while she was practically having a mental breakdown.

“Guess who I met this morning,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

He raised a brow disdainfully, almost offended by the way she was manhandling him and throwing vague questions at him. But she didn’t waver, so he thought he’d humour her anyway. “The wedding planner? I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” he replied.

“Oh, I’ll be a bit more specific,” she ground out, “I was just about to head down for breakfast, when I found that my mum had guests over. A couple, about her age, people I’d never even met before. But somehow, they seemed familiar to me.”

Alex hesitated. He had a feeling where this was going, yet remained silent.

“That’s when I learned their last names. Turner. And they told me all about their missing son, and how he hadn’t even left a note saying he was leaving, and how worried they were. That the only reason they hadn’t called the police yet was because you’d pulled off stunts like this before. But that now, you’ve been gone for years. Without a word.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, really-“

“Oh, don’t you fucking start with me, Turner. You made it my business when you started interfering with _mine_.”

It took her a moment to realize why her mouth was tingling. He had his lips pressed against hers, and they were warm and inviting. He tasted like what she’d expected him to this time around; expensive whiskey with a hint of smoke. His eyes were closed, and without those piercing brown orbs staring back up at her, she almost thought she was kissing someone else.

Hang on a minute.

She shoved him back, “You can’t just do that!”

He raises his eyebrows innocently. “Why not?”

“You’re trying to distract me!”

“Whether or not you get distracted by me is irrelevant, love. I was just hoping we could have a good time, and I was, until you nearly knocked me off my feet and dragged me out into some dirty hallway.”

She glared at him, “You deserved that. I’m engaged.”

Looking across the hall and around the bar, he casually shrugged. “I don’t see him anywhere. And I certainly didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

She felt it at the pit of her stomach when faced with reality; a deep, underlying sense of guilt. What had happened between her and Alex, was something she hadn’t ever felt before. And that scared her senseless. It shouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. And she had to make it very evident to him, that this could not go on this way. She had Mark, ad he was all she needed. He didn’t deserve this. Neither of them did.

“Alex, what happened yesterday, it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let it get to that point, and I’m sorry I led you to believe that I felt that same interest in you that you have for me. It can’t happen again, and I hope you understand.”

He seemed indifferent, but his words were harsh as he took a step closer to her, up until the point where she could feel his hot breath fanning across her already burning cheeks. “You can blame it on wedding nerves, or insomnia, or insecurities all you want, love. But I think you and I both know that last night really meant something. I can’t blame you for lying to me, I really don’t mind. I’ve had enough lies thrown at me before. The thing is, though, I won’t let you lie to yourself. You’re better than that, smarter than that. And most importantly, you deserve better than to be in a situation where you have to lie to yourself to not give into those feelings.”

“Alex-“

“I’ll tell you all about my parents. About what’s going on. About why everything seems to be stuck in time when the moon finally hits the sky. I’ll tell you, but only if you’ll tell me how you really feel.”

“I…” She hesitated.

All she could think about was that night Mark walked away from her. She thought of how sad her mother would be to hear she wouldn’t get married after all. She thought of Rachel and James, who would be telling her they told her so, and then laugh about it all behind their back.

She thought of what might happen to her if Mark wasn’t there. How was she going to get around?

She thought of all that time _wasted_ , trying to make something work that might not have ever been intended to work at all.

“…I don’t know what to feel right now.”

She looked up at him in search for answers, but he wasn’t willing to give her any.

“I feel… scared, confused… and most of all, fucking tired.”

She was glad to see the corner of his mouth quirk up at that at the very least, and comforted when he slung his arm around her shoulders, and said, “Let’s go get you a coffee, then.”

* * *

Alphonse was a trained chef from years of hard work at the cook’s school in Paris. He knew how to make any dish, in any way, shape or form, and most importantly; how to make one with love. It might sound cheesy, but everyone knows that’s the key ingredient to a successful meal.

Alphonse was very good at cooking and working with love. He was also very good with the ladies, if he was allowed to say so himself. But he had to admit, his temperament was short, and he was awfully bad at being patient with people who were subconsciously withholding affection from one another.

So, when Mr. Turner had stepped back into the restaurant with his Cherie asking for a cup of coffee and looking mighty burdened with heavy topic, he scraped back his chair, and stormed off into the kitchen to angrily grind some coffee beans.

“Is he all right?” she wondered, as she hung her coat over her chair.

Alex shrugged it off.

Furthermore, even though their cups nearly cracked from the force Alphonse smacked them onto their table with, the restaurant was as quiet as ever at this hour.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then,” the chef grumbled, and strutted back into his kitchen.

She turned back to the steaming dark liquid, trying to focus her attention on the swirls her spoon were creating instead of the tense feelings she got from being alone with Alex once more.

“It’s a long story,” he finally spoke up, “But I need you to look at me while I tell it.”

She did as asked.

“When we were still in school, we’d already started the band. Played a few gigs here and there. Managed to catch the eye of a record company once someone had put some of our demos online. We got lucky, and managed to release a few albums with them. But fame isn’t all that fun anymore when your last record flopped and your manager is trying to sell you out.

I’d gone home for a few weeks to think things through; what I wanted to do with what was left of my career. So I went for a walk, late at night.”

She gave him a knowing look, and he nodded conformingly.

“I met Miles at Mardy’s. A pub I’d never seen before, in a street I’d never walked through. I thought I’d seen all of Sheffield when I was younger, but it turns out I was wrong. For when the clock strikes an uncertain hour, and you watch the ground shift beneath your feet when you’re not paying attention, you walk right into what appears to be a glorified version of the twenties.”

She recalled their gig on that night she’d also met Miles. “So your guitars…”

“I’d just taken them from home,” he confirmed, “No electric guitars invented yet at that time, so I had to bring them myself. Strangest thing is, the people don’t question it at all. They just think it’s another fancy new instrument that hasn’t officially hit the market yet.”

“So, what? You just decided to continue your life at night here?” she asked.

“It was simpler. I don’t have to run from the paparazzi, or do interviews where people question my sanity all the time, or get dragged for who I date or knock about with. We released an album with instruments and music that’s way ahead of its time here, and we’re seen as legends. It’s as simple as that.”

“But, Alex… I think this album could easily hit the top charts in the regular world.”

He scoffed, “They said that about our last album. And the one before that. And when they don’t do as well as you’d expect them to, people will say it’s ‘underrated’, but you know deep inside you could’ve done better.”

“Music is about more than just hitting the top charts,” she reminded him.

“I know. Yet it appears that the feeling of validation through it has left a bigger mark on me than I had expected. I expected more from my own music, and was disappointed when I couldn’t deliver. I’ve finally found a place where everyone enjoys my music again.”

“So, what? You just decide to spend the rest of your life here, a fantasy world in an attempt to hide from reality? From your family, all the people who care about you?”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“It’s not as simple? I think you just made it very clear how simple this all really is,” she said.

“Matt thought the same thing. Until he started playing with us for the first few nights, and even he was convinced. It’s hard to explain. It’s why he didn’t want you to stay around for too long when we hung out in the pub. This place gets to you.”

“He was just convinced after a few good shows?”

“I don’t think you understand,” he said, “If you stay here too long, if you spend too many nights in this version of Sheffield, you won’t be as willing to leave. It’s like an addiction; a place where all your dreams come true, if only for a little while, a few hours maybe. But you just can’t stay away from it. Once it takes hold of you, you can’t escape.”

Her brows furrowed. “What are you trying to say? You’re stuck here like this forever?”

His eyes cast downwards. “I couldn’t say. But I’ve never had good reason to leave.”

Her heart was swelling in her chest. “And what if you did have a reason?”

“What?”

“What… What if I wanted you to leave… with me?”

It was as if a spark flashed in his eyes, but then quickly snuffed out. “Don’t do that,” he huffed, “Don’t give me hope. You should be out there, living your life without chasing after the ghost of a man and blaming it on your insomnia.”

She took hold of his hand across the table, and squeezed it tightly, too afraid he’d take off if she didn’t. “I should be out there, living my life. But so should you. You’ve made me feel things I thought I was unable to feel, and I wouldn’t have experienced any of this if it wasn’t for you. You can still escape from this, Alex. I know you can. I can’t do this without you.”

“It’s not that simple, love.”

“Why not?”

“You shouldn’t want me.”

“Don’t you want me, then?”

His brown orbs lit up passionately, as he leaned forwards and captured her lips in a kiss. “Of course. I want to be yours,” he muttered.

He deepened the kiss, gliding his tongue against her bottom lip suggestively. She opened her mouth and her tongue met his, sliding against it and drawing a quiet moan from her throat. He held her cheek in his hand and slid his thumb over her soft skin gently.

When she pulled back, she had finally made up her mind. “I need to speak with Mark.”


	8. R U Mine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Sorry this took me so long, I wasn’t entirely sure how to plot out the story, and now that I have to move I’ve been dealing with a lot of stress. I hope you’re all doing well x
> 
> Also, happy belated birthday to our very own Jamie Cook and Nicholas O’Malley!

The walk up the stairs to her previously shared room in the hotel seemed to take a lot longer than usual. Her legs apparently found it to be highly unnecessary to spend the effort walking quickly when it was this late and they were already tired.

The clerk had told her Mark was indeed present, and that he should still be awake after ordering a drink not five minutes ago. The clerk seemed hesitant to disclose this information when she’d initially asked him, and it made her wonder why.

Was he sad? Or still angry? A part of her hoped it was the latter, for that would make things easier. She could handle angry, but she could never watch him cry. She’d never seen it before, so she wouldn’t know where to begin.

She knocked on the door, and heard a glass roughly being placed on what she presumed was the coffee table. She heard his footsteps grow nearer, until finally he opened the door, and stood in front of her.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

He looked tired. But he didn’t look angry. There was something else about him, but she couldn’t yet decipher what it was. Some kind of sadness loomed in his eyes and his shoulders were slumped, which made the pit in her stomach grow by tenfold. What if he was sad?

He finally collected his thoughts and invited her in, yet in a cool manner without any tremor in his voice.

He hadn’t packed any of his things, nor hers, which meant that their fight had only been that to him. And that’s what it should’ve been to her, if she hadn’t been lying to herself all this time.

They both took a seat on the couch, as far away from each other as possible. Mark picked up his drink.

“I have to-“

“Something-“

They both fell silent, neither of them very willing to be the first to speak even though they’d both taken the initiative at the same time just then. Mark finally gestured for her to start, which she accepted, and took a deep breath for. She’d never before felt this estranged to him.

“Mark, I don’t think I can do this-“

“I slept with Rachel.”

…

“ _What?_ ”

He’d interrupted her when it seemed the guilt had finally taken its toll on him. That’s the thing she’d seen when she’d met his eyes as he opened the door. Guilt, shame, anguish; whatever you want to call it. She hadn’t recognized them because she was sure Mark was incapable of feeling those emotions. He’d never shown them before.

Yet, here he was, proving her wrong once again.

And surprisingly, she found it more aggravating that of all the time they’d spent together, he only now thought it best to show some form of regret over any of his actions. She’d barely even blinked when he’d confessed the actual problem.

Honestly, she should’ve seen it coming. She’d already known long before that Rachel was a serial adulteress, and that James didn’t know about a thing. She knew Mark was always adamant to make time for her whenever their busy schedules allowed it, yet was never able to take a day off to meet what should’ve been his future in-laws. She also knew Mark and Rachel had had a thing back in high school, and that the only reason it had ended was because Rachel eventually had to move away.

She’d always been revolted by cheaters. Cowards, they’d been in her eyes.

But now that she was facing the man who had committed such a crime, who was now on his knees in front of her begging for forgiveness, all she could feel was pity, and a sense of understanding.

He hadn’t been the only one, after all.

“Mark,” she said, pulling her hands out of his clammy grasp. He looked up at her with - if he had been any good of an actor she would’ve called them teary - sweaty eyes. She looked right through his façade.

“I forgive you.”

“You- You do?” he asked in confusion.

She nodded. “But only if you can forgive me.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I kissed someone else. More than once.”

He blinked, as if in a daze, and slowly got up off the floor. He turned to look out the window. “Did… Did you like it?” he asked.

“I did,” she honestly told him. “Mark, you and I haven’t been happy for a very long time. This was bound to happen one way or another, and I can only be relieved it was an unexpected simultaneous decision on both our ends. I came to tell you I think we shouldn’t be together anymore, and I think it’s obvious why.”

“But… It was a mistake…” he muttered, running a hand through his curly hair.

“It wasn’t. Deep down, you know it wasn’t. Mark, it’s better this way. We should move on with our lives, so we can both find happiness.”

“I was happy with you.”

“And I once was with you too, but it wasn’t meant to last. I can only thank you for being such a good partner, and getting me through my rough patches. I hope you hold a similar sentiment, and that maybe we could still be friends.”

He didn’t respond, and it slightly worried her. She thought her words might’ve been enough to soothe him, but as of right now, he held as much emotion as a book with a blank cover.

Perhaps he was in shock?

She had half the heart to reach out to him and wrap her arms around him, so she hesitantly got up, until-

She wasn’t quite sure what had happened anymore.

One second she was getting up, and the next she was on the floor, holding her stinging cheek.

He’d actually hit her.

Yet the only thing she could think of was not how she should’ve seen this coming, or that she should feel scared, but of how she wouldn’t want Alex to see her bruised face.

“Go on then,” he spat, “Go back to your new boyfriend, you fucking whore. I hope you make him as miserable as you did me.”

She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to give him that. So, she got up, looked him in the eye, and said, “I’m going to let that one slide, because I know how you can get when you’re drunk. Goodbye, Mark.”

Years of working hard to maintain a mature and healthy relationship, or some form of such a façade, only now down the drain, when they should’ve been saying the ‘yes’-word to each other in front of all their friends and family in a few months. It should’ve ended much earlier. It was done.

And that should’ve been that.

But right as she was about to shut the hotel door behind her, something made of glass – presumably his previous drink – shattered against the wall, causing shards to fly through the slit of the opening and dig into her arm.

She didn’t waste any time bolting down the hall, ignoring the elevator, and stumbling down the stairs as she heard his footsteps follow dangerously close behind her. She felt him brush the back of her arm once, and in her panic she jumped down the last set of stairs.

Her ankle twisted in a nasty way, but barely noticing it because of the panicked adrenaline coursing through her veins, she kept running. Past the clerk who shouted in concern but was unable to do anything, through the doors, up the hill, and past the fountain, until all she could hear through the whistling in her ears were her gasping breaths and her shoes clacking across the cobblestone street.

She halted and looked around, noticing that the block was entirely empty.

She sunk to her knees, and finally allowed herself to cry.

…

_She heard the front door open, but didn’t bother to look up. Her eyes were glued to the empty pages in front of her, one on the screen of her laptop, and the other resting on her desk with a closed pen next to it. The shuffling of feet grew ever nearer, like a predator nearing in on its prey, and it told her all she should know about Mark’s lack of soberness. He had been going out a lot these days, claiming it was only to catch up with colleagues. But she knew otherwise._

_“You should be asleep,” he slurred._

_“You said you wouldn’t be out long,” she shot back._

_Sleep depravation does a lot to you, and so does alcohol. And when the two collide, only bad things follow._

_“Why do you think I go out?! You should be in bed,” he repeated with a dangerously low voice._

_She got up, her chair scraping across the floor, and looked him right in the eye. “Sounds like a real good coping mechanism, Mark.”_

_She was about to turn to walk into their bedroom when she was suddenly spun around and her back hit the wall. Mark’s hands wrapped down her throat, and he looked as if he wanted to do more than that._

_“Go the fuck to bed,” was all he’d said._

_And they’d never spoken about it again._

…

“Love?”

She wasn’t underwater, she was pretty sure of that. But it did sound like it when Alex spoke again.

“Love? Are you alright?”

He was kneeling down next to her, and had draped his coat over her shoulders. It had started raining; a while ago, from the feel of her soaked hair.

She’d long stopped crying, and only know realized how ridiculous she must’ve looked sitting in the middle of the street like this, sobbing while it started pouring, with the knees of her tights torn and her black makeup blotched all over her face which she made no attempt to fix or hide. She was a real mess.

“Let’s get you inside, yeah?”


	9. You're So Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’re back! And we hit 1K followers on Tumblr!!!!!!! No worries, I won’t stop making Alex content just because I’m also simping for Corpse and others. Alex still our boo. I very much hope you enjoy, and hope the smut is alright. Please do leave feedback, I’m a bit inexperienced writing that stuff as you all know.

“I really thought he could change,” she said, “I really thought I could make him… better. Help him, in a way, like he used to help me.”

Alex handed her a glass of bourbon, and sat down on the couch next to her. The sudden presence of body heat next to her made a shiver run down her spine, to which he responded by running a comforting hand across her blanket-covered back. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault he’s a fucking prick.”

“Don’t call him that,” she pleaded, though under different circumstances it would’ve made her snort. She sighed, “He needs help. I suppose I’m just upset that I wasn’t enough.”

His nails trailed a pattern through the fur of the blanket. He was thinking, mulling over all the signs in the past that should’ve told him enough about what was happening between the two of them. “I should’ve known. I could’ve done something,” he finally said.

She hit his arm softly. “Now you’re starting to sound like me. Only one of us gets to be self-deprecating, and tonight’s my turn.”

“Will you let me show you, now?” he asked.

“Show me what?”

“What a relationship should actually be like?”

She felt at a loss for words.

“-Only if you’d want me to, of course,” he muttered, “I’d completely understand if you’re not ready yet, considering the circumstances and all.”

It made her smile. He looked so very boyish in that particular moment, awkwardly running a hand through his hair while his sentences became a slur of nonsense even someone from Sheffield wouldn’t be able to translate.

“Alex,” she interrupted him, “I’d want nothing more.”

He turned to look at her. The lights being emitted from the few lamps he had stood around the place illuminated his brown orbs, making them seem clearer than before. He hoped they showed how happy he really was that she was finally here, with him. “You know I love you, right?”

She bit her lip, mostly to keep herself from smiling like a fool, but also to keep the look of surprise from her face. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say it, I think.”

“About time, then.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then kissed it gently. They felt warm, yet while she was cursing her blood vessels for betraying her, he could only feel the utmost of endearment. “You don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to.”

She smiled. “I know.” Laying her head on top of his shoulder, she breathed in his scent deeply, and puffed out with a sigh of content. The tapping raindrops had slowly dissipated from the windows, the storm having moved on towards its next concrete target. She felt that it made the room a bit more unusually quiet, as if someone had suddenly turned off the music that created the atmosphere.

“I mean, it would be nice to hear you say it.”

She laughed, and gave him a kiss on the cheek in apology. “Not yet. I just… I feel like it would snap me out of this whole thing. Let me just enjoy this for a little while longer.”

“Alright,” he’d said, “Then how about I take you out tomorrow. We’ll dress up, go to dinner, and then go to the opera.”

“The opera?”

“I heard one would be performed at the theatre, and I’ve some friends there from when I did a gig a few years back. Unless you don’t enjoy it?”

“I’ve never really been to one. But I’d love to go.”

“A date it is, then.”

Looking at the man giving her such a gleeful look, she wondered how she’d ever gotten this lucky. How through trial and error she’d managed to find someone who appreciated her for who she was, and was willing to carry her on all fours to ensure her happiness. It made that sliver of doubt well up again. For what she had with Mark she’d thought would last, and even in that relationship she’d done things that weren’t healthy. She still wasn’t quite sure where she was with her mental health, and she hadn’t been planning on burdening Alex with something so heavy after everything he’d already done for her.

Even though you may have a post to lean on, it does not mean that that post doesn’t have its own cracks that need mending or that it will allow you to burden it forever.

“Don’t do that. You’re overthinking things,” he said, snapping her out of whatever rattling train of thought she’d been having.

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“I only overthink things in the positive sense.”

“Didn’t know there was a positive sense to it. I just sort of imagine your brain to be this big blur of ideas that sometimes manage to form coherent sentences.”

He laughed at that.

“I swear to god,” she said, “One day you’ll write one of those weird 80s inspired sci-fi albums, and I desperately hope I’ll be there to see it unfold.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. Unfortunately, I don’t think they’d quite appreciate that kind of music just yet. Maybe not ever. But at the very least, in this time, you’re a few decades too early, love.”

“Haven’t you ever thought about going back?” she pondered, and almost stopped herself then and there. She wasn’t sure how he was going to react, but she wanted answers, so on she went. “Back to the normal world? To your friends, your family?”

He didn’t seem to appreciate the question very much, as his shoulders almost immediately tensed and his eyes darted across the room, but he eventually answered anyway. “Of course I’ve thought about it. I suppose I’ve just always found staying here the easiest option. We’ve already made a big name for ourselves here, without the prejudice people hold over us because of albums and decisions we’ve made in the past. We could be whoever we wanted to be here, and get rid of that garage band teenage noise they associated us with.

“I have all I need here. Everyone I need, here. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“You won’t lose all of that back in our time, Alex,” she tried to convince him. “Your past makes you who you are, and you should be proud of it. You still have such a long journey to go in your music career, in your entire life, to make decisions that define you _now_. And I really don’t mean to make this literally, but you have to stop living in the past.”

He smirked. “Clever. You should write that one down.”

“No one would get it anyway.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “You once said relationships were about compromise.”

She hummed back. “To which you responded by saying you’d do anything to give a girl her dream wedding if it would make her happy.”

Their faces seemed to be only inches apart now, slightly leaning like the wrong ends of two magnets not quite touching. But there was an unspoken electricity between them.

“Can I come to bed with you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

* * *

His lips stroked hers softly. He seemed slightly hesitant, but when she reciprocated he became eager. He ran his tongue across her bottom lip, making her tingle all over, and she opened her mouth for him. He hovered over her a bit until she sighed in exasperation. Half smirking, he relented and kissed her properly. It was warm, and tasted slightly like smoked whiskey from a cold crystal glass. He lit her insides on fire, something she’d never experienced before. Her breath quickened, purely in excitement and because his hands started kneading the skin of her hips, pulling her ever closer until she took matters into her own hands and blatantly slipped into his lap.

When they pulled back, she was more out of breath than him, and he locked eyes with her in silent questioning.

“I’m nervous,” she explained. “Why?” “Because you make me feel things.”

He chuckled, “Well, I would hope so.”

“No, it’s different. You’re different.”

Her gaze drifted across her face leisurely, as if she was some painting he was studying up close. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

Her eyes were suddenly burning, and she quickly blinked and turned her head away. In turn, he left a trail of kisses down to her neck, until his hand started undoing the buttons of her blouse. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered.

Slender fingers trailed down her collarbone, over her chest and along the soft skin of her stomach. It felt like a soothing stream of water trickled over her, reminding her of where she was and that this was all right. She allowed him to slip the white fabric off her shoulders and swung it onto the floor. She took his face into her hands and left a lingering kiss on his lips. He gazed at her with a fire only two lovers would be able to describe, right there in the moment. There was nothing else around them, though the rain tapped against the glass and the bed creaked slightly, there was no sound. Only the warmth of their mingling breaths, the fingers undoing clothes until all was shed and every contact made was skin on skin.

Her nipples were peaked as Goosebumps covered her form, and he took one into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it languidly. His hand trailed across the other, mimicking the movements of his mouth. She moaned, running her fingers across his defined back, leaving undoubtably marks from her digging nails. Her hips were bucking forward, finding his leg and trying to find some sort of friction. This made him breathe through his nose and release her in amusement. She suddenly felt two fingers trail over her lips, and took them into her mouth and sucked on them.

He brought them down right as their mouths met once more, and she gasped into him as she felt the warm digits run directly over her clit until they formed slow circles. She placed her hand over his and helped him apply more pressure, and he adjusted his movements until she started gasping and her legs started shaking. He wouldn’t let her get there just yet though, stopping halfway just to press a kiss to her sensitive mound and travel back up until they were face to face.

“You all right, love?” His tone was teasing and she playfully hit his shoulder for it. She was dripping over the bedsheets, but really couldn’t be bothered by it. The thought entirely evaporated from her thoughts when she felt his cock brush over her until he was soaked himself, and then hesitantly slipped the head through her folds. She let go of the breath she’d been holding. He gave her time to adjust, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as their hips inched closer every time she nodded.

His pace was slow, a calming rhythm that helped her trembling quiet down a bit and instead made her back arch off the bed. His hands embraced her as he kissed her between her breasts and on her stomach, leaving a trail of butterflies.

She felt complete; she didn’t know how she could’ve missed out on this feeling. A pure sense of wild extasy unlike any other.

He raised her to sit up on his lap, and thrust into her while his eyes remained fixated on hers, until there was no more room to breathe or speak.


End file.
